


Actions Speak Louder

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She coaxes Damon Salvatore into the wrong thing. Or the bad idea. Or, whatever.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actions Speak Louder

**Author's Note:**

> Normally, I would never publish something I wasn't more sure that it works, but I feel like the characters led me through something I would never have written myself. It's definitely more of a character study from both sides, as well as an examination of the sire bond, and what that means exactly. So it might not feel quite right to you who are especially squicked out by the sire bond. Read at your own risk.

  
_The bond affects how you act, not how you feel._  
~Tyler Lockwood

He places his hand over hers on his cheek and just shakes his head. She knows he doesn't think it's wrong; she knows he _wants_ to feel it's wrong so that he can do whatever _right_ thing he's got in his head, and truthfully, Elena Gilbert never thought she'd see this day.

She coaxes Damon Salvatore into the wrong thing. Or the bad idea. Or, whatever.

(Really all she does is lace her fingers through his when he drags her hand away from his face, and then she leads him up the stairs. They lie down on the bed together and spoon for a while in silence. And yes, even as a vampire, that's as bad as she gets.)

She thinks of several things she could say to convince him that this is real. She even comes across certain moments where she's positive she did things she knows would upset him or did upset him, and she wants to mention that maybe she's not sired at all because of that.

Suddenly, she remembers his mouth between her legs, and her thoughts just sort of curl up and die. Because that? That whole night, that might be the biggest proof of the sire bond that there is.

She had wanted him, wanted him, _wanted_ him. Of course, she had wanted him. For months. For ages before she was a vampire, she'd had many thoughts of him, against her, inside her, on top of her, beneath her. She couldn't help it; everything about Damon screamed sex and it was always worse for her when they had some kind of close encounter and she could feel his desire emanating from him. It always fueled her own.

Because it wasn't just about blood rushing to sensitive places; no, if only that were what it was with Damon, things would be so much simpler. Instead it was possession and acceptance, need and want, giving and taking, and Elena knew, more than she knew anything else, both before her death and after it, that she and Damon were matched there. Their need for those things is what had drawn them together in the first place.

She might only be an 18-year-old girl, but she's seen enough tragedy, and lost enough people to recognize her own kind. Damon has always been her kind of person, even though she didn't want it to be that way.

But before she was a vampire? She would never have done that. She'd had a moment of weakness in Denver, but she would never have let it go farther.

Right? Never. She wouldn't have had sex with Damon. Until now.

Until now when it just didn't feel right _not_ have sex with him. When slow dancing in front of the fire naturally led to kissing. Which led to groping. Which led to clothes coming off and walls coming down.

And just plain _coming_. Because there had been a _lot_ of that.

Having sex with him had been life altering, and mind blowing, and deeply satisfying like no other experience she'd ever had.

She'd done things with him she'd never done with anyone else—had never even wanted to do with someone else. He had kissed her between her legs, and she had gasped and pushed his head away, only to have her hands clench in his hair and pull him back again. He'd blown a soft breath against her and she'd all but shot off the bed. His chuckle had followed, and then his tongue went to work, and Elena let go of his hair to grip the headboard. She needed a solid, unmoving surface under her hands when, crying his name, she wondered how she'd ever lived without this kind of pleasure.

She came so hard her vision had been non-existent for several moments, and all she could feel was Damon's face resting against her belly, his hands gently soothing on her thighs.

When she could function again, she'd reached for him, and he'd climbed her body to smirk her own flavor on to her lips, kissing her and laughing smugly.

"Vampire heightened _head_ ," he whispered naughtily against her mouth. "Better than ever before, right?"

She only nodded because she couldn't find the words to tell him, and make him even more smug, that she'd never had anyone go down on her before, so she had no frame of reference. Was it amazing because she was a vampire, or just because it was amazing?

Who the hell really cared?

After that it had been her turn, and though she knew very little of what to do other than to put her mouth on him, her enthusiasm made up for any lack of technique. She knows because Damon had been louder than her, his approval and appreciation coming on exhales and groans as her tongue moved over him and especially when she found a way to get him into the back of throat without gagging. She swallowed, he swore, and then she was drinking him down like the sweetest cream she'd ever had.

It hadn't tasted bad; it had some essence of Damon to it, and the idea that he could be inside her in more ways than one only made her want him more desperately.

She realizes it now, coupling that with his completely content expression from the previous morning, when he'd described himself as _happy_ — those had been her happiest moments, too; all in conjunction with his happiness.

So maybe she hadn't been happy at all?

But how could that be? How could she feel the happiest she'd felt...since her parents died and it not be real? How could she be so close, physically and emotionally, to Damon, and it somehow be a product of her imagination? 

How could it be anything other than not letting herself feel this before? Stefan had said himself that her feelings were magnified. They were the same feelings, only more. Deeper, broader, more intense.

She falls asleep, convinced that the only thing that has happened is that becoming a vampire kept her from hiding the truth from herself anymore.

 

 

She wakes up, rolls over to look at his beautiful face, and the uncertainty assaults her all over again. 

_It affects the way I act, not the way I feel_. Only, how can one divide action and thought from emotion? She's staring at him, and she's nearly overwhelmed by the desire to lean over and kiss him. That's action, fueled by feeling.

Of course, her feelings influence her actions. That's how the world works.

"This would be so much more fun if we were naked," Damon grumbles, letting her know he's awake.

"That was your call, not mine," she reminds him as his eyes open to look at her. It isn't any less, the intensity she feels, the ache in her chest, the need to feel his skin against hers. She doesn't think anything could take that away from her, not even whatever he thinks he can say to end the sire bond.

She doesn't want him to do it, right? _She_ doesn't want him to do it. 

"I was being a gentleman," he says, more petulant than she's ever seen him, and that's saying something. He turns on to his back, breaking their eye contact. "You shouldn't've stayed," he says, a big gusty sigh preceding his emphatic statement.

"I know," she replies, rolling away from him, too. Does she know it, or is she just saying that because he said it?

He throws his legs over the side of the bed, marches across the room, and starts rattling off all the reasons why he should have made her go. It's nothing she hadn't laid awake most of the night thinking herself, but then the truth that comes from her lips almost surprises her. "But...it feels real. And I'm not ready to let go of that."

He might've been happy, but so had she. Maybe even false happiness was worth whatever price she had to pay for it.

 

 

He goes with her to the lake house because he's not ready to let go of it either. She asked him what he wanted, and he was thrown back to that dark road, eighteen months earlier when he'd first met her.

He has wanted Elena, for so long. And beyond that, he has wanted the kind of love he feels from her, warm, strong, passionate. But he has always wanted it to be real, and he knows he'll never be able to believe it's anything close to authentic as long as Charlotte haunts his memory. The only thing he will ever know for sure is that the night Elena died, when she thought she might never see him again, she hadn't come to him, and now, a month later, she can't get enough of him.

She swallows him whole, tears strips off his back, clenches around him like a vice that will never let him leave, and it's everything he's ever imagined. 

But nothing he can trust.

At the lake house he watches her with Jeremy and Bonnie, and sees that she's actually safe and happy with them. So, even though she looks as though he's ripping her heart out of her chest when he invokes the sire bond, he feels a sense of justification.

Doing the right thing sucks, but there is liberty in it, too.

(Fuck him, he sounds like Stefan at his most sanctimonious, and he is _not_ Stefan. He never will be. She drives away with Bonnie, and Damon knows within 24 hours, she'll be back with his brother and all of this will have been a dream. A dream that will destroy his sleeping hours from now until eternity.)

 

 

It had to be because he hadn't really meant it. When he sent her away, he'd said the right words, but he hadn't been sincere.

Of course, he hadn't meant for Charlotte to count bricks for 70 years either, and somehow that order got followed, but Elena staying in Mystic Falls had not.

He should have figured on that. It's Elena, after all. In the dictionary, under stubborn, there is no doubt a photograph of this beautiful, infuriating girl.

"I missed you," she says with a smile, and he could scream with rage.

In fact, he might just do that once she stops kissing him.

(But, _fuuuuuuuuuck_ , she's kissing him, and it's all tongue and a leg curled around his hip, and he is not that guy. He's not the guy who can do the right thing over and over. Tempt him enough and he'll give in, every time.)

Jeremy had left with Elijah only a few hours before, and Damon had stayed, a bottle of whiskey his last remaining friend. He could've gone back to Mystic Falls, but what would be the point of that? 

And then Elena drove up, alone, and he walked out on to the porch to ask her what the hell she was doing there. That's when the kissing started, and she now has him up against the door jamb, and his bottle of alcohol is rolling across the floor, spilling as it goes, and he can't bring himself to care.

So he puts his hands under her ass, lifts her up and moves inside the house, kicking the door shut with his foot. They get as far as the sofa, and then she's underneath him, tugging his shirt up over his head and unbuttoning and unzipping his pants ridiculously fast. She shoves her hand down the front of them and he groans expletives against her collarbone.

Somewhere in there, he gets the wherewithal to ask, "Why are you here?" but her lips fasten around his earlobe, so he's pretty sure the answer won't matter as she strokes his cock and sucks on that tender flesh. 

Then she breathes, "Jeremy called to say goodbye, and I imagined you up here all alone and I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to be with you. And, obviously," she says, her voice a little louder as she fists him perfectly, "you couldn't take it anymore, either."

He grunts, and then comes unexpectedly all over her hand, soiling his jeans and her shirt. She moans, "Damon, _ohmigod_ ," like somehow that was the sexiest thing ever when he's pretty sure he should be embarrassed, and he shoves up the skirt she's wearing to bury his head between her legs since he can't service her any other way at the moment.

He rips her underwear (red lace that matches the bra she's wearing, so he's certain she had come here just to please him) out of his way. She grabs handfuls of his hair, yanking him this way and that as his tongue circles and flicks and then he uses his teeth to isolate her clit more abundantly. She shrieks his name again, and comes all over his face. It makes him feel better about his own rush to victory when he feels the surge of her orgasm dripping down his chin.

Of course, guilt quickly follows that, but Damon's always been good at compartmentalizing that sort of thing.

He twists them around so that she's on top of him during the recovery period, and her fingers stroke over his chest and shoulder in this random pattern that is enough to inspire him again. With Elena, it really takes nothing but her presence, and he hasn't seen her in three months.

(He can be forgiven for this, right?)

(Like he gives a flying fuck about forgiveness.)

He's just about to ask her something really lame, like _how is school going?_ when she presses her lips to his sternum and murmurs, "I've only ever done that with you, you know."

"Done what?" he asks, distracted from his banal conversation starters.

"Had oral sex."

He makes a _hmmmm_ sound in his throat because he's not sure what the point of that is.

"At first I thought it was because the sire bond made me do things I'd never have done before. Then I thought maybe it was just because you're good at it, and that's why I like it. But then I decided it's something else."

(Damon is sure this is going be some sort of nonsensical thing that somehow crushes him.)

She lifts her head and looks into his eyes. "It's because I love you, and I trust you, Damon. If I was sired to you, it's because I love you and trust you, don't you see? And if you invoked the sire bond, and I still feel that way, what does it matter? This is how I feel. You are who I want."

His throat feels tight, but he manages to say, "I probably just didn't say it right." He should have commanded her to stop loving him, to forget him, to never think of him again. To get everything she wants, but to never remember that they'd known each other.

There were so many things he could have said. None of them what he would ever want to say, none of them what he could ever really mean.

"I don't care," she says before pressing her lips to his, softly, sweetly.

She quietly lays her head down on his chest, and he can remember that Halloween night with Bonnie so clearly. _She already_ is _like me_ he'd snarled at the judgey little witch.

And maybe that's all it is. Maybe that's all it ever will be.

Maybe he should just let them be happy.


End file.
